Page 43 of The Crafting Con

I put my phone away without answering and start double-checking the list of materials I need to pack for the convention. Shifting my focus back to where it belongs.

CHAPTER 17

AVA

Five days until OA Con

He left me on read.

With a dad joke.

Not good.

I sip the lukewarm coffee I’ve been nursing ever since I got home from school. I made it as soon as I came in and have been posted up at the kitchen counter ever since, woefully gazing at my phone. Willing it to buzz. It’s now well after four, and the only text I’ve received is from Stasia, informing me her cousin, a student at Evergreen Beauty College, has offered to do our hair and makeup for free on Saturday and am I okay with that?

I shot off a halfhearted sure, and went back to doom-staring.

Declan’s clearly irked about yesterday. From his point of view, it probably looks like I ducked out early to meet up with Tyler. Which, to be fair, would not be grounds for ignoring me, seeing as Declan and I aren’t dating any more than Tyler and I are. But if he thinks I lied about it…

Sure. I’d be a little miffed too.

I didn’t do anything wrong. If anything, I was trying to do something right. Declan will understand once I explain things. And if he doesn’t? That’s on him.

Which is all well and good in theory, but my bandwidth for emotional confrontations right now is nonexistent. All I want to do is make crafts with my friend, and even that bears an edge of stress after Mom’s chili-chopping rant. At least she didn’t have any more drinks after that. I don’t think…

I really wish Declan would text me back already.

You know what? No. I should just woman up and go down there. Face-to-face is always best when it comes to clearing the air, right? We’ll talk, we’ll laugh, we’ll get back to crafting. Then at least one thing would be right in my world.

Just as soon as I have one more mug of coffee. For good luck.

I dump the remaining dregs into the sink and whip up a fresh cup, savoring the warmth radiating through its ceramic sides. There’s something about the way the heat seeps into my palms that grounds me, like a magical reset button. A slow sip, and I’m already feeling better about my decision. I even wonder if he might not be as upset as I fear. It’s possible he couldn’t respond to my text the moment he saw it, then forgot. No big deal.

Another sip, another layer of worry stripped away.

My cell vibrates on top of the counter’s granite surface, interrupting the zen state I’m working toward, and I bite back a groan when I see “Dad Calling” emblazoned across the screen. Damn it, he did say was going to check back today, didn’t he? And I more or less implied I would answer.

He’ll just bug Mom about it if you don’t.

I wrinkle my nose, but reluctantly swipe the green accept tab before putting it on speaker—unwilling to let go of my coffee mug touchstone. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?” There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?

“Hey, kiddo. I can’t believe I finally got a hold of you.”

My stomach drops, even as my traitorous pulse skips with an irrepressible excitement at hearing his voice. But he’s still my dad, my hero for twelve formative years. It’s his fault. The stress of keeping Mom above water, of being the perfect daughter, it all comes down to this man’s selfish decisions. Don’t you dare forget it.

“Yeah, well, I’m right where you left us, so…”

There’s a pause, a quick clearing of his throat. “I wanted to talk to you in person since I’ve got some pretty exciting news.”

I roll my eyes at his use of “in person.” I hardly think phone calls from three thousand miles away count, but whatever.

“Actually, it’s not just my news so much as Becky’s and mine.”

Five years later, and it still feels weird to hear him say her name instead of Mom’s.

“Get this, Ava.”

She’s so different from Mom too. And not in the stereotypical man leaves wife for younger, hotter model kind of way. Nope. Becky is the same age as Mom. She’s just a run-of-the-mill librarian with curly brown hair and glasses. While Mom is the proverbial blonde bombshell. Stand the pair of them side-by-side and poll the internet for who’s hotter, and they’d choose Mom every single time. Not Dad, though. The one person who mattered.